


Eleven More Days of Rain

by remiges



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Bondage, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: The apocalypses in the movies Wayne had seen were dry things. Sand. Heat. Barren, crumbling ruins under a relentless sun.This one is more like someone forgot they'd left a faucet running in heaven.





	Eleven More Days of Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeswayappianway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/gifts).



> Hi, yeswayappianway! I really enjoyed your prompts, I hope you enjoy. <3

The apocalypses in the movies Wayne had seen were dry things. Sand. Heat. Barren, crumbling ruins under a relentless sun.

This one is more like someone forgot they'd left a faucet running in heaven.

It's been raining for so long that Wayne is starting to lose track of the days, and it reminds him of... not the first _war_ , but the First World War. He can't remember where he'd been now, or why, or what side, but the trenches had been a thick slide of mud and refuse and freezing rain, and even his powers couldn't keep the cold out of his bones. Wayne thinks Claude might have been there with him, but he's not sure. He doesn't want to ask and have Claude give him that look, like he's worried about him and trying to hide it, which always makes Wayne feel like shit.

It's not that he can't remember. It's just that it's... blurry, sometimes. Like trying to look at the past through a block of ice, everything distorted and indistinct. But, faulty recall or not, Wayne knows conflicts. And he knows this one isn't following any of the rules.

The thing about fighting a war is that one side is supposed to win. That's how these things work. You go to battle, and maybe you die or maybe you survive or maybe you get wounded and can't figure out whether dead or alive is the word that fits you better, but at the end of the day it's supposed to end. And sure, sometimes compromise is messy and the line between fighting and peace is hard to figure out, but it's _done_. Finite. Stop. No more.

Wayne doesn't know what he would call this—this new world of rain that never clears and skies the color of a distant fire, hopping from abandoned house to abandoned house as they try to make it somewhere safe—but he sure wouldn't call it over. He wouldn't call it much of anything, much less winning.

At least, he doesn't think this is winning. For starters, he'd expect it to involve a lot less bickering.

"It's one, two, three, flip the fourth," Claude is explaining from his spot on the threadbare sofa, sounding like his temper is fraying. "Four cards."

"It's three cards," Sid says. "One, two, three, you flip the third one. Have you never played war before?"

"Yes," Claude replies through gritted teeth. "Which is why I know it's four cards. Wayne? Care to back me up on this?"

Wayne shrugs. "Not really, sorry," and Claude waves him off.

The two of them playing war is all kinds of ironic, considering they were on opposites sides of this one. Wayne thinks technically Sid is their prisoner, or they're his, but they have a better chance of surviving this new world if they stick together. If someone does have the upper hand, Wayne's not sure who. He and Claude outnumber Sid, obviously, but Sid is the only one who has any powers left. Wayne had burned through his getting himself and Claude out of Chicago when everything started falling apart, and Claude hasn't had any powers since... well. Wayne can't quite remember, but he knows it's been a while.

He walks over to the boarded-up window while Sid and Claude continue arguing tie-breaking etiquette. He's fairly certain the wall he's standing by is rotted through, but at least here the rain is loud enough to drown out everything else. Wayne can't see it, but he can hear it coming down in relentless waves that sound like they're going to beat through the roof.

For some reason that makes him think of the birthday card Claude had sent him once—a cartoon of a guy rappelling down a giant stone nose on Mount Rushmore. Wayne remembers what the mountain had looked like in its natural state before people brought in their chisels and pickaxes and dynamite, or whatever it was you needed to turn the sacred into the commercial. He wonders how long it'll take the rain to wash it all down into something new. Something unrecognizable.

"How many times do I have to say it, you don't shuffle your half of the deck," Sid says into a lull, and then the downpour starts up again.

Wayne would tell them to knock it off and just go to sleep so they can head for one of Sid's safehouses in the morning, but he's pretty sure animosity counts as some kind of foreplay for them. If you listen to Claude, he and Sid have had strict hatesex in a variety of countries over the past few decades, but Wayne is pretty sure he's lying to himself. He's seen the way Claude looks at Sid. It's the same way he looks at Wayne.

Maybe Wayne should be jealous, but that's never been his style. He and Claude have been together for a long time, through the highs and the lows and everything in between, and he doesn't begrudge him much of anything, much less his happiness. And Sid isn't half bad to look at, either.

"I'm going to bed," he tells Claude when he gets tired of listening to the endless rain. Well, he says bed, but in all actuality it's a sleeper couch in the other room.

Claude squeezes his knee absently when Wayne gets close enough. "I'll be there as soon as I finish beating Sid," he says, followed by Sid promptly taking one of Claude's queens with an ace.

"Yeah," Wayne sighs. That's what he'd been afraid of.

 

* * *

 

Wayne wakes to Claude shaking his shoulder.

"Someone's here," Claude breathes. "Two cars, maybe five, six people." Wayne can just make out the glint of his eyes in the early morning dark, and he's already reaching for his knife before his words register. He can hear faint voices outside, but he doesn't know if that bodes well or not. It could be a relatively harmless group after what shelter the house provides, but he thinks it's more likely confidence in their ability to take whoever they encounter, even without the element of surprise.

"Sid?" he asks, cramming his shoes on and scooping up the few things they've unpacked—a blanket, a couple of water bottles, someone's shirt.

"Grabbing his stuff," Claude tells him, which isn't the answer Wayne had been hoping for. "He said to go ahead and—" Claude cuts off at the sound of someone trying the door.

"Go," Wayne mouths at Claude, but he's already moving, sticking close to the wall so the floorboards don't creak as much. They make it to the room where Sid has been sleeping, and Wayne pries the sheet of plywood off the window as quietly as he can. They'd taken it down when they'd first gotten there, but put it back up to keep the rain out.

Wayne hopes Sid is already outside, but he can't see him on the ground or by the overgrown shrubs. Claude must be thinking the same thing, because he hesitates on the sill, looking behind him like he's waiting for Sid to materialize in the doorway.

"Come on," Wayne whispers as he hears the distinctive sound of wood splintering, like someone's kicked the front door in. Just when he thinks he's going to have to push Claude out of the window, he finally goes. Wayne tosses him his bag, then lowers himself out as well.

Wayne has been called everything from an angel to a demon, but he's guessing he doesn't look that impressive now, splattered in mud and creeping along the shadows while the rain pours down. Back when he'd had his powers, when replenishing them was as easily as breathing, he could have taken care of this without even exerting himself. That's not now, though, and there's no use dwelling on the impossible.

They're almost to the side of the building when Wayne hears Sid scream, once. It cuts off quickly, but the sound seems to reverberate long after any echo should have died. It had come from inside, and Wayne's stomach drops.

"That fucking idiot," Claude hisses, but Wayne can see how white he's gone. "Fuck, you get us a vehicle, I'll get Sid." He hands over his bag and Wayne trades him his extra knife, for what good that will do, and then he's gone.

Claude can take care of himself, but Wayne had thought the same thing about Sid, and he still has his powers. Whoever these people are, Wayne wants to get away from them as quickly as possible.

The group hadn't left a guard outside, which means they aren't trained well, or maybe they're overconfident. There are two vehicles—an older truck with scratches marring the sides and no tailgate, and a car that already has one flat tire. Wayne lets the air out of the other three, then tries opening the door of the truck. The driver's side is locked, but the passenger's side isn't, and Wayne sends up a silent thank you for manual locks.

There aren't any keys. Wayne's luck isn't that good.

"Screwdriver, screwdriver," he mutters, kicking through the piles of junk on the floor before he thinks to actually look at the panel below the steering column. The plastic is cracked and one of the two screws holding it in place is missing already. The other one isn't quite flush with the plastic.

Wayne tries gripping the remaining screw with the tips of his fingers and turning, but it isn't as loose as he'd hoped. It's difficult to see in the dark, and his fingers keep slipping, and his hands aren't shaking but that's something he lost a long time ago. He keeps getting distracted looking out the windshield at the house, but there's no hint of what's happening behind the boarded-up windows.

Wayne doesn't know how this group found them, but he's willing to bet they don't care about different factions, or that they'd run from the war, or that Wayne and Claude are mostly human without their powers and Sid isn't that far behind. Creatures like them did this to the world, and Wayne's willing to bet that's enough.

His fingers slip again, and he has no idea if he's even making progress. He can't hear anything from the house, but that doesn't mean shit. That doesn't mean—

Wayne closes his eyes and takes a second to breathe. He's no use to anyone panicking. Claude's going to be fine, and Sid's going to be fine, and he's got this.

He's got this.

He uses his knife as a makeshift screwdriver and the screw still takes too long to come out, but then the panel is open and he's greeted with a bundle of wires. And if there's one thing Wayne knows, it's how to hotwire a car.

When he's ready to spark the starter, though, he hesitates. They're going to lose the element of surprise as soon as the engine turns over, but Wayne can't tell if Sid and Claude are holding their own or if they need help. The only thing he can hear inside the cab is his own breathing.

"Fuck this," Wayne finally says. Element of surprise or not, Sid and Claude are taking too long. He starts up the truck and is just pulling a U-turn when someone sticks their head out the door. They yell something, but by then Wayne has hit the deserted street. The tires squeal as he pulls a tight loop, and then he points the truck back the way he'd come, sends up a prayer that Sid and Claude are smart enough to get out of the way if they can, and floors it.

 

* * *

 

It turns out the side of the house was as rotted as Wayne had thought. If Sid weren't in the back trying to heal himself from a stab wound to the side, Wayne could almost say 'I told you so.'

Almost.

 

* * *

 

"Thank you," Sid says eventually, when he's done bleeding on the seats and Wayne's grip on the steering wheel has finally relaxed.

"Next time I tell you to get out, you get out," Claude says. He's got one foot up on the dash since he'd turned an ankle in the rush for the truck, and the windshield wipers are working double-time behind his toes.

"We needed the map," Sid argues. Wayne pulls over on the side of the road and keeps the truck running before they can start going at it.

"Map?" he asks, and Sid passes it to him without comment.

The paper is deeply creased and the colors are faded, but the X's are easy enough to see in the pale orange light of dawn. Wayne looks it over again, like any of safehouse locations might have changed since the last time he'd seen it, but they haven't.

It doesn't look good.

The tank had been reading less than half full before the needle got stuck on empty, and they can make it to the lakes, or possibly the outskirts of a town, but that's it. They might be able to get gas somewhere, but that would require finding a place that _has_ gas, and Wayne isn't eager to do that considering they barely made it out of their last encounter with humans. They always know, somehow, that they aren't quite alike.

"You can get us into all of these?" Wayne asks without looking up. He's running routes in his head—checkpoints, barricades, destroyed bridges, roads that are probably underwater by now. They can't walk anymore, not if they don't want to run into that group again, and Wayne is willing to bet they'll be following now. If they can reach a safehouse they'll be okay, but first they have to get to one.

"I can get us into all of them," Sid confirms. "They've got the same wards."

Wayne looks over the map again, but there's only one real option considering how much gas they have and all the other factors. Only one choice that makes sense. Claude's not going to like it, but Claude doesn't have to know right now.

"Alright," he says decisively, folding the map back up and handing it to Sid. "With a full tank we can make it halfway to the safehouse up the coast," and it's not even a lie. Still, he doesn't think Sid misses how Wayne turns left and not right when they reach the highway.

 

* * *

 

The truck is running on fumes by the time Wayne pulls in to the marina, and the windshield wipers cut off halfway through their arc when he lets the truck die.

"Are we switching drivers?" Claude asks, yawning, as he climbs out so Sid can get out of the backseat. He stands on the gravel and stretches, and Wayne hates that he's doing this to him but it's the best of bad options.

"I'm sorry," he tells him, pulling their bags out and shutting the door. The keys go on the hood of the truck, for whoever runs across it next. Hopefully that'll help cover their trail if anyone comes looking, though it won't really matter once they're in the water.

Wayne sees the moment when Claude gets it, that Wayne had lied about which safehouse they were going to. It isn't any easier watching it in person than imagining it had been.

"Fuck you," Claude says. He jerks away when Wayne tries to touch him, and he's so angry he's going blotchy with it, high spots of color on his cheeks. "You fucking—" Words seem to fail him.

"We need to get somewhere safe," Wayne tells him, though he doesn't think it's going to do much good. "The interstate is rubble, I've seen it, and we're not going to make it anywhere on the smaller roads. The island is our best option." Claude shoots Sid a venomous look, but as much as Wayne wants to let him take part of the blame for this, he can't.

"It was my idea. He doesn't know," he tells Claude, glad that he'd had the foresight to nick Claude's knife when he was napping. He has a feeling this is heading toward a fight, and unlike Sid, Wayne doesn't have any way to heal if he gets stabbed.

"I don't know what?" Sid asks, shooting a wary look between them.

"That I don't like water," Claude answers tightly, turning his glare back on Wayne. "Which Wayne knows damn well."

There are ducks sitting on the surface of the lake, and Wayne feels like they're judging him for pushing Claude into this, making him relive whatever trauma or torture Wayne hadn't been around for. He doesn't have a choice, though, not really. He wants the three of them to stay alive more than he wants Claude to not hate him.

"You don't have be on deck," Wayne bargains. "You can stay in the cabin the whole time, get out when we reach the island."

"No," Claude says, shaking his head vehemently. "No, I can't, because there's no way in hell I'm getting on a boat."

"Listen, I know what I'm doing," Sid tells him, like that's the problem. "We're not going to..." He's smart enough not to finish that sentence with _sink_ or _drown_. "It's going to be fine," Sid readjusts. "Just, we should go now, before the weather changes."

"No," Claude says again. He looks calm, but it's surface level only. Wayne is surprised he hasn't tried running yet, but he guesses the sprained ankle was good for something.

"I'm sorry," Wayne says. "I'm really sorry, but this is the only way." He thinks he can wrestle Claude onto one of the boats if it comes down to that, but Claude backs up when Wayne takes a step toward him.

"Don't," he warns. "Don't you dare. _Wayne_ , don't you fucking dare."

"Claude, please, we need to go," Sid says, and it's the first time Wayne's heard him call Claude by his first name. It doesn't seem to be working, judging by how Claude jerks out of reach when Sid grabs for his arm.

"You're going to have to make me. And trust me," Claude says, something wild in his eyes. "You do not want to have to make me."

 

* * *

 

Wayne rubs his bruised shin and squints up at the hazy red sky as Claude is messily sick over the side of the Mary Lou. He thinks the clouds might be lighter ahead, like it's not raining as hard, but he can't tell. It would make for nice change of pace, he thinks as Claude moans and rests his head against the railing, but Wayne isn't going to count on it.

It hadn't taken long for land to recede, and now the world is roiling waves as far as Wayne can see. He doesn't think the water should be moving like that, but it's not like he's ever gone sailing before. At least, he doesn't think so. He'd have to ask Claude, and he's sure Claude doesn't want to see him right now. Wayne had held him down while Sid cast them off, and Claude's look of betrayal would have been comical if it hadn't made Wayne's chest hurt.

Sid seems to know what he's doing, at least, which is a relief. He'd pulled out a map from somewhere in the cabin while Wayne was cleaning out a neat line of teeth-marks arcing across his forearm, excepting a gap tooth. Claude's got a bite, he'll give him that much.

Sid has figured out the auto-navigation, or maybe he's burning through some of his powers to get them to the island, because he's over by Claude instead of at the wheel.

"Come on," Wayne can hear Sid saying over the sound of the rain against the lake. "Just breathe, you're okay."

"Fuck you," Claude says shakily, raising a hand to his mouth. He looks washed-out in the light and half-drowned. The deck lurches under Wayne's feet and he panics for a second at the thought of Claude going over the railing, but Sid's got a grip on the back of his shirt.

"Fuck you too," Sid tells him, but he doesn't let go. "Here, focus on the railing, deep breath in. If you throw up on me, I'm not going to be happy."

Claude looks like he's going to say something, but then the boat lurches and he turns decidedly green. Wayne leaves him to Sid's capable hands and turns his attention back to the water.

 

* * *

 

"Hey." Wayne knocks lightly on the inside wall of the tiny cabin. Claude is either asleep or ignoring him, and based on the way his shoulders had tensed when Wayne opened the door, he's betting on the latter. "You don't have to talk to me, but I brought you something to eat."

He sets the protein bars down on the bed, and he thinks Claude is going to keep ignoring him for a long minute before he rolls over. Claude doesn't look angry anymore, just exhausted, which is somehow worse.

"We could have made it to the other one," Claude tells him, voice rough from throwing up. "It would have taken longer, but we could have made it."

Wayne doesn't think they could have, is the thing. Gone a little further in the truck, sure, and probably a decent ways on foot, but eventually they would have run into people who blamed them for bringing their war to earth. It would have been a slim chance at best, and Wayne doesn't believe in best-case scenarios.

He doesn't say any of that, though. It won't help. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I know you don't like the water. I don't know why, but—" Claude's face crumples, and Wayne cuts off.

"I know why," Wayne says, and it's not really a question. Claude recovers well, expression smoothing back out, but Wayne knows him better than he knows himself. He knows what it looks like when someone's just turned a knife.

"No," Claude lies.

"Don't," Wayne says, sitting down next to him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Claude asks, but he goes quiet after that.

They sit in silence for a while before Wayne puts his feet on the bed, shoes and all. Claude doesn't complain, and when Wayne bumps their shoulders together he turns in to the the touch.

"I hate this," Claude tells him, his forehead pressed against Wayne's neck. He can feel Claude's quick breaths against his skin, like he's trying to hold something in. "I hate it."

"I know, I'm sorry," Wayne says, pressing a hand to the small of his back. His shirt is damp, whether from rain or lake water or sweat. It's kind of gross, but Wayne doesn't mind.

"I threw up on Sid," Claude tells him when Wayne has just started to think he's fallen asleep.

"It's okay," he says, awkwardly patting his side. "He probably deserved it."

"You deserved it more," Claude tells him, but he doesn't pick his head up off Wayne's shoulder. "I'm not sorry about biting you."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Wayne says truthfully. He supposes he should be thankful Claude hadn't kneed him in the balls, though he'd tried.

They stay like that until Wayne's arm starts falling asleep, and then he maneuvers them onto their sides. He thinks briefly about seeing if Sid needs help with anything, but it's not like Sid won't be able to find them.

"Why am I the little spoon," Claude asks, sounding half-asleep already.

"Because I don't want you throwing up on me if you get queasy again," Wayne tells him, and Claude doesn't have a comeback to that. When Wayne presses a hesitant kiss to the back of his neck, Claude doesn't shrug him off.

 

* * *

 

Wayne disentangles himself after about ten minutes. He doesn't think Claude is sleeping, but he doesn't make a move to get up when Wayne does. He closes the door quietly behind him, either way.

"How is he?" Sid asks outside. Wayne shrugs and falls into step with him.

"He'll be fine. I mean, it'll—"

He never gets to finish his sentence, because one minute he's walking beside Sid, and the next Sid's feet slide out from under him, he windmills his arms for a too-brief moment, and then he hits the railing awkwardly and goes over.

Wayne swears his heart stops.

"Sid!" he yells, peering down. He can't see him in the water, just the rain hitting the surface of the lake. Wayne runs and grabs the circular life preserver, careful not to slip as well, and throws it over the side. Time seems to be slowing down, and there's still no Sid in the water, no Sid grabbing the preserver.

He should have stopped the boat, Wayne realizes as he's tugging off his shoes. They're getting further away, and maybe the current dragged Sid under, and holy fuck, what if Sid doesn't know how to _swim_ , and—

And something thick and red latches on to the preserver.

Wayne comes very close to yelling for Claude to bring him a knife before he realizes the thing isn't some fresh horror. It's Sid.

"Oh, thank fuck." He grabs the tether to the life preserver and pulls, and Sid is trying to help as well, and somehow he manages to drag Sid over the railing where they land in a heap. Sid's eyes are huge, and he's coughing up water, and he has _tentacles_ somehow, and Wayne has never been happier to see him in his life.

"Come on, that's it," he says nonsensically as he hauls Sid into a sitting position and starts pounding him on the back. "You couldn't have gone with gills instead?"

"I was trying," Sid gasps. "I panicked, didn't get that far."

"Fair enough," Wayne says, feeling shaky all at once. Sid hacks up another stomachful of lake water.

They stay there on deck until Sid stops coughing, his new tentacles waving aimlessly around him. There are maybe a dozen of them, different thicknesses but the same burnt-red color, originating from Sid's upper arms or his shoulders. Wayne's seen people shift before, but it takes a lot of concentration. He has no idea how Sid managed it in the confusion of going overboard, even if he didn't get the shift quite right.

"Jesus, fuck," Wayne finally says as the deck rolls under them. "Do we need to find you better shoes? Do _not_ make me tell Claude you accidentally died by drowning. Don't put that on me."

"We're not telling Claude about this," Sid says, starting to shiver. Wayne chaffs his arms briskly.

"No," he agrees. "I can't see that going well."

By the time Claude reappears, Wayne has gotten Sid on his feet. He's still soaking wet, though, more so than can be explained by the rain. Claude takes one look at him and stops where he is.

"What—" he starts. "Why do you have tentacles?"

"There was... an incident," Sid hedges. "We dealt with it."

Claude looks at Wayne, who shrugs. He's not going to rat Sid out, though he thinks Claude has enough clues to piece it all together. He supposes he should just count them lucky that Claude hadn't come on deck before now. Maybe he really had been sleeping.

Claude pinches the bridge of his nose for a long minute, then waves his hand and disappears back into the cabin.

Sid drips.

"Do you think—" Sid starts, looking vaguely guilty, but Claude is back before he can finish his sentence.

"If you die on me, I'm going to kill you," Claude says, shoving a jacket at Sid.

Sid takes it, an unreadable look on his face. He spends a minute trying to put it on, but his tentacles keep wanting to work their way down the sleeves, and eventually Claude takes it back.

"Idiot," he mutters, but it's soft and lacks any bite. He drapes the jacket over Sid's shoulders and doesn't leave.

It's not long after that that the island comes into view, visible as a growing dark shape beyond the haze of rain. Sid hasn't even stopped shivering yet, despite how close Claude is sitting.

"Do you want to grab our stuff? I'll bring us in," Sid says, giving Claude his jacket back. His newly freed tentacles wave, like they're getting used to being uncovered again.

"Just don't fall overboard," Claude tells him, already headed toward the cabin. "Or at least put on a lifejacket this time."

There's really nothing they've unpacked, but Wayne grabs a couple of things that look like they might come in handy somewhere down the line. He doesn't know what good clicky pens or a book light might be, but they'll think of something.

"How close was it," Claude asks, seemingly absorbed in zipping up his bag.

"Close enough," Wayne answers.

They make their way back on deck in silence.

Sid navigates around to a pier that extends from the island, and he secures the boat while Wayne and Claude toss their bags onto the weathered wood. There are slats that have rotten through, but the structure itself seems stable enough when they're standing on it. Still, Wayne breathes easier when they've all made it to actual land.

Claude breaks the silence as they're standing there, looking back at the boat. "This had better be the right place, Sid, because I'm not getting back on that thing and I'm sure as hell not swimming back."

"It's the right one," Sid tells him, making no move to start walking. Wayne thinks Sid might have been more nervous than he'd realized, because he's not wound so tight anymore. At least, parts of him aren't.

"Are you going to stay like that?" Wayne asks, eyeing the way one of Sid's tentacles keeps making curlicues in the air, like it's trying to catch the rain.

Sid shrugs. "If we run into anybody, I can scare them off," he says, even though Wayne doesn't know why people would be on the island or how they would have known about it. "I thought it would be useful." His tentacles curl out around him in a wave that Wayne thinks is supposed to look menacing.

"...you can't figure out how to change back, can you," Claude says after a pause. Sid glares at him for a minute, then seems to deflate.

"I _do_ know how, I just... I don't think I can."

He's used up the last of his powers, Wayne realizes. Or maybe not the last of it, but enough. He doesn't have any way to shift back.

Claude looks at Wayne, and Wayne looks at Claude, but for once he has no idea what he's thinking. Maybe about how, if this were ten years ago, or even five, this wouldn't be a problem. Sid would be able to set himself to rights by pulling more power, but he can't. None of them can, anymore.

Claude finally looks away. "Alright. Well, come on," he says. "I'm not standing around all day." He starts walking without waiting for them, and Sid shoots an incredulous look at Wayne.

Wayne shrugs. "You're the one who knows where we're going. You'd better make sure we're headed in the right direction, because I don't want to walk around in circles all night if he gets us lost."

"I heard that," Claude calls back, and Sid finally starts looking a little less freaked out by his tentacles now that he has something familiar to fall back on, even if it's just bickering with Claude. He matches his pace to Wayne's, and they catch up together.

 

* * *

 

Sid has enough of his powers left to get them past the wards, which is something Wayne hadn't realized he should have been worried about. From the edge of the wards to the cabin is a bit of a walk, and the place looks like it was abandoned even before everything went down, but the roof is mostly intact and that's all Wayne really cares about.

They should be safe here, he thinks, as Sid opens the door and they do a quick sweep of the interior. They'll survive.

They change from wet clothes into slightly damp clothes, and they take stock of everything in the cabin—a decent amount of food, a first aid kit, some mothy blankets, a small tarp—and they clean off as best they can, and then...

And then they sit.

"There's nothing to do," Wayne complains. At least in the old house it had been large enough they could get out of each other's way when tempers ran high. Here, they're basically confined to the non-leaking living room and the bathroom.

"Poker?" Sid asks, but he doesn't sound that enthused.

"We left the deck behind," Wayne reminds him. "And anyway, Claude cheats like a motherfucker."

Claude shrugs, not looking chastised in the least. "We could have sex," he suggests.

Sid coughs pointedly.

"I meant you too," Claude tells him, and Sid starts coughing for real.

"You okay there?" Wayne asks with a raised eyebrow. He pounds Sid on the back until he gets waved away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... really?" Sid still looks a little flushed, and he's shooting quick glances between the two of them, like he's not sure if Claude is joking. Wayne knows from firsthand experience that he's not.

"What, you've never had a threesome before?" Claude asks, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs suggestively. Wayne doesn't know if that move has ever worked for him, but it looks like it's working on Sid—he's turning a very interesting shade of pink.

"No, I have. Why, you think you've got something to teach me?" Sid asks, eyes dark and intent.

"Maybe," Claude says, grinning crockedly. He looks over at Wayne after he says it, though, like he's checking in. Wayne doesn't always go along with Claude's plans, but he does when they're good. And he's pretty sure this is a good one.

"Come here," he says, patting the space between him and Claude on the couch. "Let's find out," and Sid moves.

Up close, Sid's tentacles are... weird. They bulge strangely, like no creature Wayne has ever seen—almost like a snake trying to digest something, or pantyhose filled with water. Wayne doesn't know if Sid meant for them to be like that, or if that's just what he thinks tentacles look like. Shifting in a panic probably hadn't helped the matter.

"What do they feel like?" he asks, tugging gently at one.

"They're... sensitive," Sid says after a pause. He seems pretty distracted, eyes bouncing between what Wayne is doing and where Claude is taking off his shirt.

Claude leans over and kisses Wayne once, hard and messy, before climbing on top of Sid. "Sensitive like 'don't touch,' or sensitive like 'sensitive?'"

"Sensitive like your nipples," Sid smirks up at him, but the expression falls off his face when Claude wraps his hand around a tentacle and pumps tentatively, like it's a cock.

"You've got to give him that," Wayne says as he undoes Claude's pants, and Sid laughs around a moan.

It's been a while since Wayne has had sex with anyone besides Claude. Sid's hands are warmer than Claude's and his grip is tighter around Wayne's cock, but it's different in a good way. He kisses Wayne's neck, and Wayne shivers at the hint of teeth, at Claude's heated gaze and fingers rucking up his shirt.

Yeah, he thinks as Sid runs his thumb over the head of Wayne's cock, this was definitely better than poker.

When Wayne moves to take his shirt off, though, he can't. There's something putting up resistance, and it takes him a minute to figure out that some of Sid's tentacles have migrated around his forearms. Wayne feels his breath catch at the sight.

"Can you let go?" he ask. His voice comes out tight and he tries to hold very still, like if he can convince himself that the not-moving is of his own volition, his heart will stop racing.

"Sorry, I'm trying, I just—" but Wayne loses track of what Sid is saying around the wave of panic rushing through him. He tugs experimentally, but everything just tightens. It feels like something is squeezing his chest, but when he looks down nothing is touching him. Claude is saying something right next to him, but Wayne isn't listening because he needs to get free and he needs to get free and he _needs to get free—_

He kicks out, and things go a little hazy after that.

When Wayne opens his eyes again, Claude is perched on the arm of the couch, outside of striking range, and Sid is nowhere to be seen.

"He's outside," Claude fills in when Wayne glances toward the bathroom. "He said he was sorry."

Wayne nods, because he does know that. It just hadn't mattered at the time whether Sid was doing it on purpose or not.

"I got you something to drink," Claude continues, holding out a water bottle.

"Thanks," Wayne gets out, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth is. The top of the bottle is already screwed off, so he makes sure not to squeeze too hard when he takes it. That's one good thing about being in a constant downpour, he thinks as he takes measured sips. You never have to worry about water, just put something out to collect it.

"You should go after him," Wayne tells Claude when he's finally gotten his breathing under control, Claude a steady presence at his side. "Make sure he doesn't get any bright ideas about swimming away while we're not looking."

"He's not more important to me than you," Claude tell him, delicately picking something off Wayne's arm. It looks like the top layer of a tentacle got stuck and yanked off, and Wayne feels a pang. There's already enough suffering as it is—he doesn't feel great about adding more.

"I know he isn't," Wayne says. "But he's still important. He's important to me, too."

Claude tips his head to one side and holds Wayne's gaze. "I didn't realize you two were that close. Not that I'm complaining."

Wayne resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Because he's important to you," he tells him. "He's important to me because he's important to you." And because Wayne feels a growing amount of affection for him, but it's mostly the Claude thing.

"I love you," Claude tells him, quiet and sincere. He doesn't reach out to touch him, but Wayne doesn't need him to.

"I know. Go take care of your boy."

Claude nods once, then picks up Sid's discarded shirt and lets himself out. He closes the door gently behind him and he doesn't look back, and Wayne is unspeakably grateful for him.

Alone, Wayne folds his legs under himself and breathes. The adrenaline from being restrained has burned off and now he just feels tired, with a side of jittery. He can't remember now why he doesn't like being held down, but considering that Claude knows why he doesn't like water and he's still fucked up about it, Wayne thinks this is one of those things that just doesn't go away, whatever you do.

If things were different, he wouldn't be like this: none of them would. The world wouldn't be broken, Claude would be able to take baths, and Wayne wouldn't freak out when his partner's boyfriend can't control his brand new appendages.

Fuck, he really hopes he hadn't hurt Sid when he'd kicked him.

Wayne gives himself a minute to bow his head under the terrible, wearying weight of the world and wish for the impossible, but just a minute. Maybe two. Then he finishes the rest of his water. He gets up. He shakes out his shoulders. And he goes back outside in the rain.

"You're such a pain," he can hear Claude saying when he gets close enough. "You couldn't have gone for something waterproof? Or like, an umbrellabird or something?" The two of them are standing twenty feet away from the porch, Claude wrapped up in the tarp they'd found inside. Wayne's getting soaked, but that's nothing new.

Sid doesn't take the opening, which is how Wayne knows he must be feeling bad. Wayne takes it for him.

"Do you not know basic biology?" he asks. "An umbrellabird?" Sid jerks, eyes wide as he twists toward him. He must not have heard Wayne come out over the rain.

"They're a real thing," Claude says, feigning affront. "Don't diss my zoology knowledge, I won't share my tarp with you."

"I'm sorry," Sid tells Wayne instead of joining in. He's corralling his tentacles with his hands, like he's afraid they'll suddenly lunge out. "I didn't mean to grab you. I'm just having some trouble... controlling them. I don't usually shift that much."

Them, not his tentacles, Wayne notices.

"I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I really am sorry. I'll try and stay away from you, and you can just... smack them or something if they get too close. It's okay."

Wayne had been expecting more pushback, what with how Sid and Claude snipe at each other all the time, but Sid seems truly contrite. Even his tentacles look less lively than before, twisting in slow, aimless waves.

"Apology accepted," Wayne says. "I know you didn't mean to. And I'm sorry about your tentacles." If they ever get any of their powers back, Wayne's sure he'll be able to shift again. If not, well. Wayne guesses they're all different one way or another—it's not like life has let any of them go by unscathed.

"You know, they're not that bad," Claude says, looking over Sid's tentacles with a critical eye. "Better than whatever the fuck you turned into back in Prague."

Sid shoots Claude a look and opens his mouth to say something—probably something cutting, judging by his expression—but Wayne isn't in the mood to referee them. He's wet, and his boner got killed abruptly in the cabin, and what he really wants right now is to go back for a redo. Barring that, he'll take picking up where they'd left off.

"Do you want to try again?" he asks.

"I—" Sid looks like he doesn't know which way is up. "I mean, only if _you_ —"

"No pressure," Wayne interrupts. "We're good either way."

"I—yeah," Sid says. "Yeah." He looks more certain now, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. Claude is looking Wayne over behind him, like he's making sure Wayne is actually okay, but he is. He wouldn't have suggested it otherwise.

"Alright," Wayne says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to the underside of Sid's jaw. No time like the present. "Just... soak. Tell me if it starts to hurt."

Sid shivers but he doesn't say anything, so Wayne drags a curious finger up a medium-sized tentacle. It's firm and slick and surprisingly warm, but not gross. Wayne rubs it experimentally, the texture smooth and silky under his fingers. The tentacle twists and waves enthusiastically, and Wayne can see a flush rising up Sid's cheeks. A couple of the tentacles are hovering by him, but most are twining together or wrapping themselves around Sid's upper arms. One looks like it's trying to explore Claude's ear, which is hilarious.

"You aren't toxic, are you?" Wayne asks, playing with the little tentacle Sid must have yanked off of him earlier. It's rough where a layer of skin has come off, and he runs a hand over a larger tentacle to get some slick he can put on the smaller one.

"I don't thinks so," Sid tells him. "Why, what—" He cuts off abruptly when Wayne presses an experimental kiss to the one in his hand, and when Wayne looks up Sid's eyes are huge and disbelieving. Wayne thinks he can get him to look even better than that.

He takes a tentacle into his mouth, like it's a particularly strange cock, and smiles around his mouthful when Sid grabs for Claude. Wayne had been worried the tentacle might try to choke him or force its way down his throat, but it doesn't. It undulates gently against his tongue and flicks at the roof of his mouth like it's exploring, then curls around and presses against the backs of his eye teeth. It tastes like skin and rainwater, which is a surprise, but it's not like Wayne is complaining. He sucks gently, then harder when Sid makes a strangled noise.

"I know, he's good at this, isn't he?" Claude asks. He's crept closer while Wayne has been exploring, and now he's got half of the tarp hanging off his shoulder, probably so he could ward off that tentacle from his ear. When Sid's knees start to buckle, Claude grabs him and shoots Wayne a look—bright and amused and turned on. When he gets a hand inside Sid's pants, Wayne can feel the full-body twitch that runs through him.

"Can you go a little tighter?" Sid asks Claude. His breathing is picking up, and Wayne gently nudges away a tentacle hovering around his wrist.

"I remember, don't worry," Claude tells him, pressing closer so there isn't any space between the three of them. "Honestly, Croz, so bossy," and that's the last thing anyone says for a while.

When Sid gets close to coming, he cranes his neck and kisses Wayne, catching part of his chin until Wayne adjusts. It's a surprise, since he knows Sid and Claude have history. He'd figure that's who Sid would turn to if he wanted someone to kiss, but Wayne likes it. He sucks on Sid's bottom lip while he tips over the edge, and when he pulls back Claude kisses Sid, then Wayne. Sid still looks a little dazed, so Wayne does up his pants when he doesn't get them himself.

"I guess the rain is good for something," Claude says, wiping his hands off on the wet grass before rubbing them together. Wayne isn't sure how sanitary that is, but it's not like they've got a ton of options.

"Now you," Sid manages to get out with a frankly impressive degree of coherency, considering how Wayne is stroking a tentacle with the edge of a nail. "We should move under the eaves."

"You won't be in the rain, then," Wayne cautions, finally letting go. "Your tentacles might dry out."

"It's just, better lighting," Sid says. He doesn't turn his head, but Wayne can see his eyes flicker over to Claude, and Wayne nods.

Maybe he should be jealous that Sid had the foresight to think about Claude staying as dry as possible, but he just feels a curl of warmth that Claude has someone else looking out for him. It's a pretty big job, as Wayne knows. He's glad to have the help.

"Come on," he tells Claude, nodding toward the cabin. "Sid said your hair is clashing with the sunset."

Under the eaves there's a hook for a planter, which Wayne slips through one of the grommets on the tarp. The material hangs down in a wrinkled sheet, blue and formless and damp, but it'll give Claude a layer between himself and the weathered wood of the cabin. Wayne doesn't want to be picking splinters out of him later.

They trade kisses on the porch for a while as the rain beats down around them, and eventually Claude backs up until he's against the cabin. "Here, you can hold on to _me_ ," he tells Sid, spreading his arms out against the tarp. "If you think you can, that is."

"I don't think it'll be a problem," Sid says, dry as anything, and it turns out he's right. It doesn't take much coaxing to get his tentacles curling around Claude's wrists and the upper part of his arms. A few inch under his shirt, but Sid pulls away the one that tries to curl around Claude's neck.

"Thanks," Claude tells him as Wayne arranges himself between Claude's legs. "I'm really not into getting choked."

Sid's tentacles are short enough like this that he's standing close to Wayne, his leg pressed against his side. "Tell me if it's too much," Sid says as another tentacle snakes around Claude's wrist.

"It won't be. Kiss me," Claude commands, and though he'd given up all of his leverage when he'd gotten wrapped up in Sid's tentacles, Sid doesn't make him wait.

Wayne undoes Claude's pants and touches him lightly while he watches them kiss. They look good together, even with the weird angle, and there's something enthralling about seeing Claude harden up because of what Sid is doing.

Wayne gets down to business when Claude nudges his side with a foot. He mouths at Claude through his underwear, and Claude's hips thrust in abortive little jerks when he gets near the head. Sid is doing something that keeps making Claude gasp, and Wayne is content to stays like this for a while, occasionally licking Claude through the fabric until he gets worked up enough.

"Wayne, come on," Claude finally says. He looks a mess—lips red, shirt rucked up, the tip of his cock poking above the elastic of his underwear. He's clenching and unclenching his hands, which are still held securely in Sid's tentacles. Claude isn't pulling against them, but Wayne thinks that has to do with not wanting Sid to lose any more skin than Claude thinking he's stronger. Either way, he isn't going anywhere.

"Impatient," Wayne says, but he tucks his underwear below his balls anyway, then presses a series of kisses up his thigh. Sid is leaving a hickey on Claude's neck, and Claude looks like he doesn't know who he should be focusing on. Eventually Wayne wins out when Sid lifts his head.

"You made me get on a boat," Claude pants as Wayne rubs the cut of his hips instead of touching where Claude wants. "A _boat_ , you asshole, don't tease."

"I did, didn't I?" His breath ghosts over Claude's dick, and Claude makes a strangled sound. "I can be nice," he tells him, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock. "Look at how nice I'm being." Claude thunks his head back against the side of the cabin and lets out a wordless noise of desperation.

Wayne presses a couple more kisses against Claude's slit, but he can feel Claude's thighs trembling under his hands and he takes pity on him. The boat thing really is something he regrets, and they're going to have to talk about it later, but for now he swallows Claude down as far as he can without choking.

Claude is thick and hot on his tongue, and Wayne spares a second to hope that he never forgets this, never forgets the taste of him or the noises he makes. Claude would normally be petting his head or pressing his fingers against Wayne's cheek, but it's just as good without, and there's the extra thrill of knowing that Sid is holding him still. Wayne presses the palm of his hand against his own dick, closes his eyes, and settles in to a rhythm.

When Wayne can tell Claude is close, he pulls off and ignores the way Claude starts swearing. "Do you want a go?" he asks Sid. "I'll switch you places."

"Yeah," Sid says, voice unsteady. He looks like he's about ready to vibrate out of his skin, eyes dark with want. They maneuver around each other easily, and some of the smaller tentacles uncurl from Claude's arms and inch down his body, giving Sid more room to work with.

Wayne doesn't know if Sid just really likes blowjobs or if it's the waiting or what, but he wastes no time getting down to it. Wayne's seen a lot in his life, but the sight of Claude's dick, shiny with Wayne's spit, disappearing into Sid's mouth is something that he's going to carry with him until he dies.

Wayne gives Sid a chance to take his time with Claude—it's not like watching is a hardship—but eventually he gives in to the temptation to pinch a nipple through Claude's shirt. Claude gasps, and Sid's head is still bobbing up and down, and Wayne _knows_ that expression, has seen it time and time again in every part of the world, every possible light. He laces their fingers together as best he can so Claude won't pull too hard and accidentally hurt Sid, and then he sets his teeth to Claude's ear and bites.

Claude comes with a sob, his back arched against the tarp, mouthing at the air. His grip is this side of painful, but Wayne can't find it in himself to complain. Sid's throat works as he swallows, and Wayne strokes his thumb along the side of Claude's palm and watches them.

When Claude opens his eyes again, he says, "You two are evil, you deserve each other."

Wayne just grins. "I didn't hear you complaining," he points out, and Sid shoots him an amused look.

"Hey, I can blow you too," he offers, still on his knees. He reaches for Wayne, but Claude makes a sudden protesting noise. When Wayne drags his eyes away from the picture Sid makes, he can see that some of Sid's tentacles are pulled tight around Claude, yanking him forward. They don't look like they're going to be letting him go anytime soon, and Wayne's first thought is that he's glad that isn't him.

"Fuck," Sid says, dropping his hand. He looks frustrated, which is the opposite of what Wayne wants. Sid tugs at one of the smaller tentacles around Claude's wrist, but it seems to tighten in response.

"It's fine," Claude says, not making any move to disentangle himself. "It's not a problem. Come on, up." He pulls Sid to his feet, even though Sid looks like he doesn't want to go.

"It _is_ a problem. I don't know how you can—"

"Shh," Claude interrupts. He adds, "Kiss Wayne, eh?" when it looks like Sid is going to try yanking on his tentacles again.

Claude steps closer to Wayne before Sid can respond, forcing him to move as well. Sid hesitates for a minute, but then he seems to make up his mind and presses closer. His hand is cold against Wayne's cheek when he tilts his head where he wants it, but it feels good against his overheated skin. Wayne keeps an eye on the few tentacles that aren't wrapped around Claude, but when Claude starts curling them around his hands he finally relaxes and lets himself enjoy the kiss.

Sid is enthusiastic but not sloppy, and Wayne can taste Claude on his tongue. It's electrifying, even more so with Claude pressing himself to Wayne's side. They kiss for an endless minute like that, the sounds of their mouths meeting loud despite the rain.

It's Sid who undoes Wayne's pants, but Claude who starts jerking him off. For a minute Wayne can't figure out what he's feeling, because those are definitely Claude's fingers, but that's not his palm. Instead, it's something warm and slick and muscular. Then Sid makes a shocked noise, and everything clicks. Claude has still got Sid's tentacles wrapped around his hand, he realizes as Sid gasps against his mouth, and the thought is almost enough to have him coming right there.

When Wayne pulls back, he sees that Sid's pupils are blown huge, his hair curling in little waves across his forehead.

"I thought you'd like that," Claude murmurs in Wayne's ear as he drags Sid's tentacles up and down Wayne's cock, slick and easy. "I'd say you should try one wrapped around your dick, but they've got a pretty strong grip. Wouldn't want him to squeeze to hard on accident."

"Not sexy," Wayne groans at the same time that Sid says, "I wouldn't." Wayne feels Claude press his smile into Wayne's shoulder, but he can't get too worked up. Claude knows just how to play his body, and Sid's tentacle—or just Sid, really, all pink and breathless and turned on—is pushing Wayne toward the edge embarrassingly fast.

Sid comes again before Wayne does, Claude whispering in his ear low enough that Wayne can't make out what he's saying, but Wayne's not far behind. Claude kisses him when he's coming down, as familiar as anything in Wayne's life, and Wayne doesn't know exactly how they all got here but he's glad they did.

When they're as cleaned up as they're going to get, Wayne catches Sid eyeing his tentacles again. Claude doesn't seem to have noticed yet, so Wayne says, "Don't," and covers Sid's hands with his own. "We don't have to be anywhere. We don't have to do anything. Just sit with Claude for a while, it'll sort itself out."

Sid looks like he wants to argue, but Claude touches his elbow and all the fight seems to drain out of him.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

The two of them get situated on the edge of the porch, far enough back that the rain is mostly off of them, except for the steady drip spilling over the eaves. It doesn't look that comfortable there, on the unfinished wood, but they look comfortable with each other.

Wayne unhooks the tarp and wraps it around Claude's shoulders before pressing a kiss to his temple. "I'm going inside, yell if you need me," he says, and Claude squeezes his hand once before letting go.

Sid touches Wayne's hip as he moves to get up. "Hey. Thanks." He doesn't say what for, but there's a question in his eyes and in the tilt of his head. When Wayne leans in, Sid meets him halfway.

It feels a little strange, kissing him when nothing is going to come out of it. The angle is off, and Sid is still wrapped around Claude, and it's almost hesitant from Sid, the way nothing else they've done that day has been. It feels... different, but not in a bad way.

It feels almost like a beginning.

 

* * *

 

Inside, Wayne dries off with a towel he finds hanging on a rod in the bathroom, then sets about figuring out how they're all going to sleep. He drags the mattress out of the bedroom and puts it in the living room by the wall. The couch is still an option if someone wants to sleep there, but he has a feeling nobody does.

Sid and Claude come in eventually, untangled, and Wayne passes them his towel and another one he'd found in the cabinet. Claude's skin looks a little red in places, but it's not bad. Sid's tentacles seem to have settled down, at least for now.

"Just like being back in the trenches, huh?" Sid asks, smiling at Wayne. He finishes drying off his hair and hooks his towel over the bathroom door. "I still don't know why they sent us down there."

"You were there? In the war?" Wayne asks, a spark of surprise lighting up inside of him.

"Yeah," Sid says, sitting down on the couch. He seems confused. "You were, too? The church? And our medic almost fell off the balcony, because he couldn't figure out where to put his feet?"

Wayne doesn't remember that, but he remembers something. Something that might be alter lights and the smell of mildew, the darkness of a root cellar and, yes, the creaking of timber about to give way. He doesn't remember Sid, though.

"We were on the same side?" he asks, even though it doesn't really matter now.

"Yeah," Sid tells him, shooting a look at Claude, who shakes his head slightly. "Yeah, we were. Do you not..." he trails off, and Claude is glaring now, but Wayne is warm and satisfied and it doesn't really matter if Sid knows.

"I don't really remember it," he explains. "I don't know why. I used to, but I think something might have happened. It's not like I'd know, if I can't remember." He smiles wryly here. Claude is looking away, and Wayne knows talking about this upsets him, but he's never outright asked why. He thinks Claude might know what happened, or maybe had a part in it, but it doesn't matter. If Claude had a hand, Wayne's sure there wasn't any other choice. "They might come back one day." He hopes so, anyway.

"Oh," Sid says. He's quiet for a minute. Wayne is expecting platitudes, but what Sid eventually ends up saying is, "Do you want me to tell you about it? The parts of the war we were together for, I mean."

He sounds hesitant, but the offer is sincere, and as soon as Sid says it Wayne realizes how much he'd like that. He has Claude to hold the pieces of their history for him when he forgets, but there are parts of his life that Claude isn't around for, or _wasn't_ around for, and he'd like to know about those, too.

Wayne nods, suddenly unsure of how to voice his desire, and Sid nods back. He pauses to gather his thoughts, and then he starts talking.

The deep red of the sunset creeps across the floor, dappled by the shadows of raindrops on the window, as Sid sketches out people and places from long ago. Some of them Wayne remembers in snatches, and some he doesn't, but he likes hearing it. Claude joins in after a while, telling stories that Wayne knows and a couple he doesn't. Wayne takes great pleasure in making sure Sid knows the real truth when Claude leaves out the most embarrassing bits, and soon enough Sid is telling Wayne his own tales about Claude.

Wayne hadn't realized how tangled their lives were—people they'd all known or places where they'd missed each other by weeks or months. He knows Claude and Sid have a lot of history in common, and when he steers them there they start sniping at each other, but it's more fond than pointed.

By the time Sid starts yawning, the light outside has faded into night. They get ready to sleep in companionable silence and arrange themselves on the mattress by mutual agreement. It's drafty in the room, but it's warm enough under the blankets that Wayne doesn't think he'll have a problem falling asleep. Claude's damp hair is tucked under his chin, but he finds he doesn't mind too much. He's pretty sure Sid has got Claude's cold feet pressed against him, so Wayne thinks he got the better end of the bargain.

"Do you think it's going to go back to the way it was?" Sid asks after a while, voice quiet enough that Wayne thinks Claude must be asleep. He doesn't specify if he's talking about the world in general or the three of them, but Wayne thinks he's probably talking about all of it. Them and the world.

Wayne considers it for a minute, and for some reason his mind goes back to the rock faces on Mount Rushmore, Lincoln and Roosevelt and whoever else is up there eroding with infinite slowness. It's not a sad thought, though. Just like the mountain was carved initially, it will be carved again into something different and unforeseen and wholly new.

"No," Wayne answers. "I don't think it's going to go back to normal, but I think it'll all turn out okay."

"I hope so," Sid says. "I hope we'll be okay." He doesn't seem to have noticed that one of his tentacles has crept over Claude's stomach and wrapped itself around Wayne pinky finger, but Wayne doesn't mind.

"Yeah," Wayne says, brushing Claude's hair off his forehead as he starts to snore. "We will."


End file.
